


Texture Like Sun

by quingigillion (cartouche)



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Developing Relationship, Hangover, M/M, Reconciliation, Regret, Then, They're important to me haha, Waffles, self-depreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartouche/pseuds/quingigillion
Summary: He reaches out in an attempt to tug the covers over him. That's when his hand touches something decidedlynot duvet. Something soft and warm andhuman. He prays to every deity he can think of that it's just Farah.Gingerly he peels back the duvet to reveal messy russet hair and pale skin.Shit.It's Dirk.He's never drinking again as long as he lives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> come and talk to me on my tumblr [here](http://quingigillion.tumblr.com) please im lonely and want to write your headcanons  
> i dont know how to make waffles  
> im weighing in on the hairgate discourse again  
> i wish todd wasn't the most self depreciating  
> also i ran out of steam at the end you can probably tell im sorry  
> based on Real Hangover Experiences™

Todd is, by all accounts, fairly drunk. Which isn’t terribly surprising. It’s slightly more surprising that Farah is murmuring to herself while clutching at her (8th? _9th?_ ) tumbler of whiskey, staring deep into its amber depths as if searching for the answers of the universe. But what is really and truly surprising is Dirk. Dirk is very drunk. Todd can tell by the way he’s still wildly flailing in time to the heavy beat rippling out of the speaker and occasionally spilling various amounts of his bright blue alcopop over Todd’s coffee table. He’s already broken 2 glasses and a photo frame.

In hindsight he should have known this was a terrible idea.

* * *

Todd doesn’t wake up drunk. He does, however, wake up with what he is genuinely considering for the top spot on his “Worst Hangovers Of Your Life” list. It’s at least number 3, after that time in college when he’d ended up throwing his wallet in a bin and sharing his life story to a 40 year old on the roof of a multi storey parking garage. His head pounds with the weight of several elephants and the light is piercing when he manages to pry his crusted eyelids open. Everything throbs with an ebbing pain that hardly makes the drinking worth it. He groans and turns over and tries viciously to go back to sleep, ignoring his sandpaper tongue and the sickly spinning motion as he closes his eyes.

He reaches out, messily grasping at thin air in an attempt to tug the covers over him. That's when his hand touches something decidedly _not_ _duvet_. Something soft and warm and _human_.

Todd doesn't think his eyes have ever shot open so fast. It's hardly the first time he's foolishly stumbled back some _where_ with some _one_ , but it's never ever his bed and his apartment. The walls are still white and the picture of Amanda is taped next to his mirror and this is definitely where he lives. He prays to every deity he can think of that it's just Farah, who probably needed a place to crash and refused to take the sofa, who would never ever do anything with Todd, who was only there to drink whiskey and celebrate another case closed.

Gingerly he peels back the duvet to reveal messy russet hair and pale skin. _Shit_.

It's Dirk.

He's never drinking again as long as he lives.

He stares hard at Dirk's back for a while, unblinking, holding on tightly to the fervent hope that this is a _really_ bad dream and if he glares at faintly freckled skin and sloping shoulders for long enough then _maybe_ it'll all disappear and he'll wake up.

As if in response, Dirk's chest expands in a soft sigh, and he rolls over. He's still annoyingly solid.

 _Fuck_.

It’s unfair that Dirk looks peaceful and soft and comfortable while Todd’s brain is currently short circuiting in sharp spasms. His lips are parted ever so slightly and his face is slack in a youthful way. His hair is feathered over his forehead and the sun is playing off its golden tones and it takes Todd a fair amount of willpower not to reach out and brush it away. Dirk is drooling, which should be entirely unattractive and yet somehow Todd isn’t completely reviled by the damp patch on the pillow.

 _Shit_.

At least Dirk is clothed. It's a reassuring sign that he's still wearing his usual ribbed undershirt and, Todd lifts the covers just to be sure, his usual soft boxer briefs. Long legs disappear into the gloom of the bedding cave. Maybe Dirk just needed a place to crash overnight, the couch is definitely too small for him. Maybe Dirk couldn't make it back to his own apartment. Maybe Dirk has just slept innocently next to him all night.

Todd is, on the other hand, stark naked. Not unusual, but not terribly promising either. Todd usually sleeps naked, but he _doesn't_ usually sleep next to his best friend/detective boss/local asshole.

He tries very hard not think of how warm Dirk is next to him.

After a moment's inspection, Todd locates his boxers on the floor next to the bed. A leg carefully extends out from the bed into the chilly morning air, and he executes a wild flick that miraculously allows him to grab the hem. He hastily shoves them on under the covers, warily watching Dirk out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t wake up, Tom Cruise eat your heart out. It’s a promising start, maybe if Todd can gather his clothes and slip out of the room, hole up on the couch with a steaming cup of strong coffee and contemplate his life choices, _maybe_ Dirk won’t remember any of it. It’s a very fragile maybe.

None of Todd’s scheming matters particularly in the end, because at that moment the universe chooses to have Dirk Gently slide a little bit closer and wrap deceptively strong arms around his torso, squashing him between a rock and a hard place. Literally. Which is awkward and embarrassing and still manages to send dangerous tingles down Todd’s spine. It also completely ruins any thoughts Todd may have had on quietly slipping away. Dirk’s grip is warm and tight and Todd has to fight against the rising tiredness that lingers and does it’s best to quietly drag him back down into sleep. He can’t imagine the horror of waking up nestled warm in Dirk’s arms. He’d never live it down.

Carefully he pries himself out of the bear hug he’s encapsulated in, and inches across the duvet. Dirk mutters something about lampshades and avocados, but Todd’s tenuous luck holds and he stays asleep. He feels every painstaking second go by as he slowly gathers up his clothes, winces at every creaking floorboard, holds his breath painstakingly to avoid disturbing the contents of the room. He finally makes it out the door, jeans halfway on, and stops.

Farah’s on his sofa.

That rules out that option then.

He shuffles mournfully back into the bedroom, dragging his t-shirt on over his head, only making his bedhead worse. Murky grey light filters in through the window, and Seattle looms cloudy in the distance. He perches uneasily on the edge of the bed and behind him Dirk snuffles softly.

He wishes viciously that he could remember last night, screwing his eyes closed and hanging his head. It thumps heavily. There are vague spurious wisps of memory, hazy images of Farah eating too many pretzels and Todd playing Twister (badly) and Dirk sliding heavy and warm into his lap with a giggly flush. Had … Had Dirk _seduced_ him? Todd couldn’t think of Dirk ever being wily enough to plan something like this, and yet the idea that Dirk would never do anything like this is sharply contrasted to vivid pictures of Dirk’s long neck and his long hands and the little movements of his hips that his brain helpfully produces through the fog of his hangover.

He’s never going to drink again.

As if on cue Dirk stirs into wakefulness with a quiet murmur about scaffolding being alive. Todd sits very still as he feels sleepy eyes bore into the back of his shirt, burning holes into the fabric. There’s a long, silent minute of contemplation before he hears Dirk move, fabric sliding over him with a rustle, and those long arms tangle him up again from behind, Dirk’s head dropping on to his shoulder with a sharp jab from his chin. Dirk’s head is unsurprisingly heavy, and he unfortunately decides to doze before he can impart his poignant wisdom, leaving Todd’s right arm to slowly go numb. Dirk’s hair tickles his neck.

When he does wake up it’s with a whine.

‘Todd ... ‘ Every syllable is drawn out at a grinding pitch that Todd’s hungover ears are really not enjoying. ‘… My head hurts.’

‘Yeah Dirk, it’s called a hangover.’ Todd carefully rolls his shoulder in an attempt to restore blood flow to his tingling fingers. Clearly unimpressed, Todd hears Dirk flump back onto the bed, and the covers shift as he cocoons himself in duvet. Todd sits there for a while, staring out at the overcast city before he gives in and spins his legs to lie next to Dirk. He _is_ warm after all. The duvet remains a careful separation.

Dirk drifts in and out of sleep, eyelids fluttering softly. He looks peaceful, carefree, and Todd half wants to know if he dreams. He half doesn’t, Dirk’s dreams can only be more chaotic than his actual life. When Dirk wakes up, it's with a deep sigh and all at once, blinking blearily up at the ceiling. Todd is fixed with a soft smile and Dirk wriggles closer towards him, yawning.

‘Hello!’ He says with a scary kind of cheerfulness that doesn’t belong at 9 am on a hungover Saturday morning. Todd’s absolutely screwed.

‘Hi Dirk.’ He can see Dirk’s brow crease at his flat words, devoid of anything remotely close to the sunshine and rainbows being thrown at him. Dirk pauses before shuffling slightly further away, far enough that he can tip his head back and really _look_ at Todd, that awful soul-searching, the-universe-knows kind of look. His mouth tilts into a downward slant to match his furrowed forehead.

‘Is … Is everything ok?’ He ventures hesitantly. Todd really wishes Farah wasn’t on the sofa and he had _somewhere_ to escape to right now. Anywhere but being caught in Dirk’s bubble of pure worry.

He sighs. ‘Yeah, everything's fine.’ This seems to sate Dirk’s curiosity and he nestles back into the duvet, face relaxed again. Todd wishes that he could leave it, could just drop it and live happily ever after, but he’s a horrible masochist who enjoys poking bears and throwing rocks at beehives. So he pokes the bear.

‘Look … Dirk .. .Did we-’ He winces. It’s the most stupid question he’ll ever ask in his entire life. ‘Did we actually -’

‘Have sex?’ Dirk cheerily proffers and Todd winces again. ‘Yes, Todd. Nice sex. _Really_ nice sex. Even if you did have the problem with y-’

‘Great.’ If Todd isn’t mistaken Dirk’s voice has a distinctly smug tone to it. Asshole.

There’s a long silence. Maybe he should have kept the bite out of his words. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he’ll go and make coffee as quietly as possible in the kitchen and avoid the looming absence of words that yawns chasm-like between them. He pretends he doesn’t feel Dirk’s confused tumbling emotions behind him as he closes the door with a quiet click.

He pads into the kitchen and the floor is freezing cold against his bare feet. It’s nowhere near as cold as Farah’s voice when she hisses his name at him from the sofa. Her hair is sticking straight up in defiance of gravity and her shirt is rumpled, but she seems surprisingly no worse for the wear considering Todd is now the proud owner of an empty whiskey bottle. He sighs and sets the coffee machine to run and puts one of Dirk’s earthy tea bags in a mug. He fills the kettle and lights the stove in slow motion before reluctantly moving over to where Farah has fixed him with a furious glare.

 _Shit_.

‘What did you _do_ Todd?’ It’s amazing how Farah can make whispers intimidating. Farah can make most things intimidating. He’s seen her casually handle an M4, which sticks out sharply in his mind as she continues berating him. ‘With Dirk? Last night? You had better not-’

Todd doesn’t bother telling her that Dirk definitely coaxed _him_ into doing it. ‘We slept together.’

Farah’s glare fills with a protective fierceness that makes Todd question whether he’ll be found, weeks later, wrapped in bin liners and buried in the woods. He should have updated his will. ‘I know that. I’m not _deaf_. I’m just surprised you didn’t do it sooner.’ Oh. ‘I meant _hurt_ him. With your self-depreciating bullshit.’ She pauses and her face twists with confusion. ‘Why _are_ you out here and not … you know …’ She trails off uncomfortably but Todd gets the idea. Why isn’t he wrapped up in Dirk’s arms, happy and content, listening to the other man ramble on about past cases, pressing soft kisses to his neck and cheek and anywhere he could reasonably reach.

‘Farah, I don’t … I don’t deserve him. Or any of this. Especially not _this_ this.’

She looks like she’s about to slap him. Her voice is wreathed with derision. ‘Have you ever considered that this isn’t about you and how you feel? I don’t think you deserve him all the time either,’ _Ow_. ‘But you’re what Dirk’s picked. So rather than moping and whining about _poor Todd_ , why don’t you let yourself be happy for once, because it’ll make him happy too.’ He opens his mouth to respond, but she’s already flopping back onto the couch with a huff, unlocking her phone to no doubt tap out a message to Amanda about her shitty brother. The kettle wheezes out a whistle behind him. Todd takes his cue and shuffles away.

He nudges open the bedroom door with a foot and precariously carries in their drinks. Dirk is a hidden lump curled up under the duvet in the middle of the bed, which Todd takes to be a bad sign. He sets the tea down on the bedside table and perches his own on the windowsill after a few scalding sips, and waits. Eventually the lump shifts and a long hand protrudes to retrieve the mug and a messy head appears after it to drink the tea. Dirk sits there sullenly, swallowing liquid that is definitely too hot, hair tangled and tousled. Todd studiously decides to ignore his red rimmed eyes. After a while Dirk sniffs and mutters a quiet _thank you_ and Todd glugs down the rest of his coffee and takes it as a sign he can perch on the bed again.

Silence falls like a heavy, muffling quilt.

‘Dirk,’ He doesn’t look at him. ‘I’m … I’m _sorry_.' Dirk sniffs again. Hos mouth is turned down in an unfairly adorable pout that makes Todd’s cold icy heart quiver. ‘I’ve been an asshole. I didn’t … I don’t deserve you. All my relationships, and I mean _all_ of them, have really sucked. I don’t want to end up without you as a friend … Or anything worse. Like hating each other. And I’d probably mess everything up. I’m not good at being a friend, let alone making other people genuinely _happy_.’ He trails off. Dirk still hasn’t spoken, and it’s unnerving without his constant line of enquiry, or poor storytelling, or incessant chatter.

‘Breakfast. We need breakfast.’ His voice is _miserable_ and it definitely wasn’t the answer Todd was expecting, but it never is with Dirk. He watches the other man pull on his Mexican Funeral t-shirt and his own words echo snidely.

_I'm here because I'm your friend._

Todd doesn’t think when he catches Dirk’s hand as he’s opening the door, but judging by the glimmer of hope in his eyes and the slight bounce in his step, he’s done something _right_ for once.

Farah looks unimpressed. She doesn’t say anything, to Todd’s relief, just watches them balefully as they potter around in the kitchen. Dirk makes another cup of tea and Todd puts thick gooey batter in the waffle maker. They emerge fluffy and golden and Dirk’s shoulder brushes against his as he reaches for his less-than-secret supply of rainbow sprinkles in Todd’s cupboard.

This time Todd doesn’t hesitate when he presses a kiss to Dirk’s cheek. The smile he receives back is blindingly bight.

* * *

He waits until Farah has finished pushing the last of her syrup around a chipped plate and leaves for her own apartment with a pointed glare. He waits until he’s washed cutlery and crockery while Dirk potters around the room behind him. He waits until Dirk finally deems it a late enough time to put trousers on and re-emerge cautiously from the bedroom. He’s wearing one of Todd’s hoodies, and something in Todd’s chest flutters.

‘We should … We should talk.’ Dirk looks up at him pensively, but takes a seat next to him on the worn sofa regardless. Farah has forgotten her phone charger and it coils across the floor like a thin kind of snake. ‘Dirk what do you … what do you actually _want_ from this?’

Dirk’s head tilts, and he can see him contemplating his words. There’s something dull and empty about his eyes for a minute, like he’s retreated from this moment, and is hidden away in his memories somewhere. Todd blinks and he’s back, tentative smiles hanging precariously on his face.

‘You.’

It’s blunt and not at all helpful to Todd, but his heart still stutters. He nods, and shuffles closer to Dirk, and tries to ignore how the face next to him lights up.

‘I just … I don’t know if  I’m going to be what y-’ A long finger presses itself firmly into his lips and he can’t help but fix Dirk with a vaguely resentful glare.

‘Look Todd, it’s not that much more of stretch, is it. We’re already friends but I want to be _boy_ friends. It’s rather easy actually. I do think you’re making a rather big deal out of this.’  He scoffs and rolls his eyes, carefully removing Dirk’s finger before shrugging.

‘I just … I want to make sure you’re happy.’

Dirk smiles softly, and Todd tries not to flinch at the timid hand that comes to rest on this thigh. He’ll have to get used to that he supposes.

‘I am. _You_ make me happy.’ For now, that’s enough. Todd’s never considered himself shy, but he still hesitates as he leans in to Dirk. Dirk’s smile curves against him, and his lips are soft.

He tastes like the sun.


End file.
